


The Tale of Marian's Wedding

by Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)



Category: Robin Hood (Traditional)
Genre: F/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2009-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-03 10:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/pseuds/Gray%20Cardinal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The legends of Robin Hood, the Sheriff of Nottingham, Maid Marian and their sundry merry men, deputies, ladies in waiting, and other hangers-on have been told, sung, and reshaped for centuries. One thing remains constant through nearly all the variations, however -- except, perhaps, in this particular tale.  (Written for Yuletide 2006.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Rhyme Against the Sheriff

> _In Nottingham the Sheriff dwells (hey ho, hey ho),  
> Within the sound of church's bells (hey ho, hey ho);  
> He plots to lure bold Robin Hood  
> Beyond the borders of his wood  
> And end the outlaw's days for good,  
> Or so the legend tells (hey ho), or so the legend tells._

Two dark-cloaked men huddled over a small table at the back of the Blue Boar in Nottingham town. The shape of the leather bag slung over the smaller man's shoulder betrayed its wearer's trade; what it held was certainly a lute. Moreover, its owner's voice -- even kept so low that only his table-mate might hear -- had the cadence and lilt of one well-used to chanting a ballad or whistling a reel.

He was not singing just now, however. "A rhyme against the Sheriff? Easy enough to craft, surely, but maybe not so safe to sing aloud."

The other man's voice sounded even scratchier than the ragged brown beard on his chin. "Bah! The only minstrels the Sheriff claps in gaol are those who sing Robin Hood's praises - and that only till Robin comes along and lets them out again, under his very nose. He cares little what the common folk think of him, so long as he keeps in Prince John's graces. So, have we a bargain?" Drawing a pouch from a fold of his cloak, he dropped it on the table with a solid clink.

The minstrel shrugged, scooped up the pouch, and tucked it out of sight. "As you will," he said. "Had you a subject in mind, or will any theme do?"

The other man uttered a growling laugh, and his hood fell back just enough to reveal a black cloth patch over his left eye. "Rumor has it," he said, pulling it forward again, "that the Sheriff's eye falls on Marian, Robin Hood's favored lass. 'Tis said he would wed her if he could, to keep her from the outlaw's side."

"A course," observed the minstrel wryly, "that Robin would surely oppose. Very well, then -- a day or two, and it will be as you desire."

The bearded man nodded. "Then our business is done," he said, rising and striding briskly away, his faded tan cloak wrapped closely round his shoulders, as the minstrel began whistling softly to himself.

Beyond the Blue Boar's walls, the afternoon sky was gray and overcast, but the tan-cloaked man paid the clouds no mind as he turned from the wide main street into a narrower one, then threaded his way through a labyrinth of back alleys. Eventually, he arrived at a weathered brass-bound door set into an obscure section of the wall surrounding the town's castle-keep. He glanced about to be sure no one was watching, then produced a key, unlocked the door, disappeared through it, and secured it again behind him.

Only when he had ascended the dark staircase just inside the door, passed through the second locked door at the top of the steps, and satisfied himself that he was alone in his private study - only then did the Sheriff of Nottingham remove the false beard, the eye patch, and the ragged tan cloak, locking them away safely in a cabinet.


	2. A Very Neat Trap

> _Maid Marian is Sherwood's queen (hey ho, hey ho),  
> A fairer lass is seldom seen (hey ho, hey ho);  
> The Sheriff, though, would see her wed  
> And brought to Nottingham instead  
> To occupy his marriage-bed,  
> Not Robin Hood's demesne (hey ho), not Robin Hood's demesne._

"It's all round Nottingham town," Much said, breathless. "Someone's stirring the pot, that's sure."

Halfway around the ring of outlaws gathered in the glade where Robin Hood's council-tree stood, Alan a-Dale frowned. "An odd rhyme-scheme," he said, "and the verse barely passable. As to the notes--"

Much shrugged. "I am no minstrel."

"Agreed," Alan returned wryly, "but you can follow a tune well enough, and this is not one I know."

"And that means what?" inquired Robin himself, from the base of the council-oak.

Alan met the outlaw leader's gaze squarely. "Hire-work," he answered. "The craft says it. If Much's ear is trustworthy -- and I think it is -- the notes and form show uncommon skill. The words, though, are hasty and trite -- 'wed' and 'bed' indeed! -- so they are newly penned for a tune already known to the writer. Most likely their author was merely passing through Nottingham town, and if he is wise, he is already well on his way elsewhere."

Little John's expression was puzzled. "But why would anyone pay good silver for a verse against the sheriff, when our own minstrels write them at the drop of a hat?"

"A message, mayhap," Will Scarlet said, "though 'tis a strange and roundabout way of sending one, as the sheriff will hear it as often and clearly as we do."

"If it be a true message," Much pointed out, "the sheriff knew it before the verse was written. The question is whether and how he intends to act."

Little John growled in agreement. "Easy enough to forestall him, Robin -- if only you would wed Marian yourself. God knows you and she are well-matched."

Robin Hood favored his right-hand man with a dark look. "That way I will not go," he said, "and as well she is not here to hear you suggest it. We have been down this lane before. Marian is an earl's daughter; should she wed a landless outlaw such as I, her dower and inheritance would be forfeit. No doubt the sheriff would turn her mother out of house and home into the bargain." The widowed countess of Welbeck was of sharp mind but uncertain health, and caring for her sometimes kept Marian away from Sherwood Forest for days at a time.

"If so, it is a very neat trap," observed Alan a-Dale. "If Marian weds you to escape the sheriff, he takes her lands by forfeit; if he weds her himself, he gets them by marriage-right."

"That's so. Subtle, too, more so than Nottingham's usual gambits," Robin agreed thoughtfully. "We have work before us. Alan - do you go to Nottingham town directly, and seek word of this traveling rhymer. Will, do you and Much round up a score or two of men and set them to watching the roads; if our bird has flown from the town, perhaps we can find him before he strays too far. I will go to Welbeck myself; this is news Marian must hear soonest."

"I'll come with you," Little John said as the outlaws rose to carry out Robin's orders. "The sheriff's men may be abroad."

Robin shook his head. "Seek out Friar Tuck, if you would," he said. "The sheriff will need a priest if he has marriage in mind, and if there is intelligence to be had from that quarter, Tuck will know where to find it."

John returned the head-shake. "As you will -- but take care. I would not see you waylaid, not with such intrigues brewing."

"And I would not see Marian alone and unguarded at such a time. Fear not; I shall take all care as I go." Robin raised his voice, pitched for all the scattering outlaws to hear. "We meet again in three days' time; if news comes sooner, send word by arrow's flight."

He turned to collect his bow from where it leaned against the council-oak, but as he reached for it, a horse and rider clattered noisily into the glade. The outlaws quickly surrounded the new arrival, their own weapons at the ready - and as quickly lowered them, as Will Stutely half-leaped, half-tumbled from his mount.

Robin Hood stepped forward and grasped Stutely by the shoulder, steadying him. "What news, Will?"

The outlaw gulped several gasping breaths, then straightened. "I'm just from Welbeck," he said. "Marian and the countess left there this noon - in a closed coach bearing the Sheriff of Nottingham's arms!"


	3. A Page from Sherwood's Book

> _To Sherwood then from Welbeck Hill (hey ho, hey ho),  
> Came news that took bold Robin ill (hey ho, hey ho);  
> The dove had flown from out its nest  
> Without complaint, without protest,  
> For reasons that could not be guessed,  
> She'd done the sheriff's will (hey ho), she'd done the sheriff's will._

The remains of the noon meal had been cleared away, but the Sheriff still sat at the head of his table in Nottingham Castle, where he regarded the folk gathered before him with his usual implacable expression. "There's work to be done, and it must be done well and quickly. We will have guests before the day is out...and more guests very soon after." With this last, he allowed a note of grim amusement to enter his voice.

He turned first to the castle's chatelaine. "There shall be," he told her, "a wedding-feast here in three days' time. The bride, her mother, and one serving-woman should arrive by sunset; they are to be lodged in the west tower and their needs seen to with every courtesy."

The chatelaine -- who was also the Sheriff's niece -- drew in her breath. "Three days, my lord? How many guests? And what of the wedding itself?"

"As to guests, not many, for which we may both be grateful. A score, no more, for wedding and banquet alike. The wedding will be within these walls as well, also three days hence. A gown comes with the bride -- her mother's, I am told -- but the seamstress will certainly be needed, and a maid or two besides."

The chatelaine swallowed, and cautiously met her uncle's gaze. "It can be done, but there will be--"

"A price," the Sheriff finished, tossing her a small, heavy pouch that clinked as his niece caught it. "That should answer the need, used wisely."

She did not open it, but tucked it into a sleeve and curtsied. "By your leave, then," she said, and glided off toward the kitchens.

The youngest of the four men remaining -- who had been sworn to the Sheriff's service only two weeks earlier -- could not hold back excitement. "Is the word in the streets true, then - that the bride will be Marian of Sherwood?"

"Marian of Welbeck," the Sheriff corrected him sharply, "daughter of the late earl. Remember that, should you find yourself in her presence in days to come."

He paused, collected himself, and smiled grimly. "However," he said, "yes. Word of my intent has reached the streets, and I would be most surprised if the rogue of Sherwood has not heard it by now. No doubt he is even now hatching a plot to rescue his so-called queen."

"From within the castle walls?" scoffed the Sheriff's chief armsman. "He'll never come so near. We'll have him and his men in irons before they pass the gate."

The Sheriff smiled even more grimly. "No, you won't." The chief armsman started to reply, but swallowed his words at an icy gaze from his master. "We will use Robin Hood's own daring against him. I don't doubt he can smuggle himself into Nottingham Castle -- he has done nearly as much before. But we shall make sure that, once inside, he does not leave again without our leave."

"Then what--?"

"We watch," replied the Sheriff, "and hold our hand until the time is right. The rogue and his men will be in Nottingham soon enough. You, Adam," he told the chief armsman, "instruct your men to keep their eyes open for them, but not to approach or detain them save by my express order."

Adam bowed. It was clear he did not entirely approve, but he was wise enough not to argue. "Yes, my lord; by your leave."

"Granted," the Sheriff said, then turned to his seneschal as Adam strode briskly out of the hall. "Ethan - watch well those you and Fiona hire for wedding-work and so forth. Some of them will surely be spies for Sherwood. Find them out, but leave them be. We will use them to mislead our enemy into overconfidence."

"As you say, sir," the seneschal replied. "As to the wedding itself, if I may -- who is to perform it, and what of the banns? Three days...."

The Sheriff's chuckle was bone-dry. "For the first, Tim must go at once to the church and bring Father Jeremiah; I shall speak with the good father when he arrives." One glance at the new-sworn youth sent Tim scurrying to obey. "On the matter of banns, we shall take a page from Sherwood's book; what was good enough for his pet minstrel a-Dale will do very well for us."

Ethan frowned slightly, but merely said again, "As you say. If you will excuse me, then, there is much to be done." And at his employer's nod, he too left the hall.

The Sheriff swung to face the last man remaining -- the captain of the castle's guard. Unlike Adam and his armsmen, who acted as the town watch and ranged across Nottinghamshire doing the Sheriff's will, Nels and his men were part of the Sheriff's own household. "Do you recall why your predecessor is no longer in my service?"

"Aye, my lord," Nels said, trying not quite successfully to keep the nervousness from his voice. "Robin Hood stole Little John from the castle dungeons under his nose. Sir."

"Indeed," said the Sheriff, his tone mild. "I trust you will be ready to receive him when he visits us again."

Nels swallowed. "Aye, sir. But you said--"

"Ah, you were paying attention. Quite right - we shall allow the rogue and his men to enter unchallenged. But you must still watch for their passing, and be ready to hold them within the walls at my command." The Sheriff smiled thinly. "Sherwood is most welcome to attend the lady Marian's wedding -- so long as he is prepared to give away the bride."


	4. Silent As Mice

> "No wedding shall the Sheriff hold," (hey ho, hey ho),  
> Said Robin to his men so bold (hey ho, hey ho);  
> He vowed he would his foe forestall,  
> And slipped within the castle's wall  
> To seek his queen in keep or hall,  
> Her virtue yet unsold (hey ho), her virtue yet unsold.

Friar Tuck was grumbling as Robin and Alan a-Dale tugged his stout body out of the oil-cask. "Never again! I am not made for being rolled around in barrels."

The hour was well past twilight, and the guardsman patrolling that section of Nottingham Castle's battlements had passed by some minutes earlier. Now, with Tuck freed, five outlaws crouched along the narrow walkway. "We might at least have hidden ourselves in ale-casks," muttered Tuck, still cross, as Robin and the other two men unloaded one last barrel and handed out weapons to the group.

Alan laughed softly as he buckled a sheathed smallsword onto his back. "Ale would have gone to the cellars or the feast-hall," he said, "and the Sheriff's niece might well have tapped a cask to test the brew's quality."

"In which event she would surely have realized she had bought very little ale and a great deal of plump friar," Robin put in; he had a short bow and arrows as well as a blade. "Better by far to short the Sheriff on oil for boiling outlaws than on ale for clouding his own men's wits."

"Agreed," returned Alan, "but most of all, from up here we may easily reach the hidden ways to the lady Marian's rooms in the west tower. 'Twould be far more difficult to do so from below."

Tuck twirled his staff idly as he eyed the minstrel. "And how, pray tell, do you come to know so much about secret passages in the Sheriff's castle?"

Alan's smile was crooked. "Some years past, before the present Sheriff took office, his predecessor took a liking to my music and bade me join his household. The arrangement lasted for some weeks before a...misunderstanding arose concerning one of his lady's attendants, and I thought it wisest to take my leave. She it was who first showed me the hidden corridors, and afterward I found other entrances all on my own."

"And we," Robin told them both, his voice soft but crisp, "had best be on our way. The guard will be back soon enough."

Cat-quiet, the five men slipped along the battlements to where the wall curved outward around the west tower. A stout wooden door, slightly ajar, led into the tower's ward-room, but Alan a-Dale led the little group past it, pausing instead a quarter-turn farther around the circular tower and running his fingers lightly over the stone wall. After a few moments, he pressed a particular spot -- and with an oddly muted grating noise, a section of the wall opened inward. Swiftly, the little band slipped into the shadowy space behind it.

Before he closed the secret door behind them, Alan struck a spark and used it to light the end of a torch, the latter item taken from a narrow shelf along the inner wall. As the flame sputtered to life, it revealed a compact landing, beyond which stone steps curved downward into darkness. The minstrel handed his torch to Robin, lighting another for himself, and whispered, "Silent as mice, now. We will pass by the countess's rooms before reaching Lady Marian's, and sounds can echo through the spy-holes."

"Aye," Robin replied, just as softly. "Lead on."

The outlaw leader kept as close as he could to Alan's side in the narrow passage, and only Friar Tuck's huffing breaths and the faint brush of boot-soles on stone marked the group's descent. It was not long before the minstrel paused again, lightly pressing his free hand to Robin's shoulder. Alan then thrust the torch he carried into a brace set high on the passage's right-hand wall and put his eye to a tiny hole opposite it. After a moment, he nodded silently, motioned to the rest of the men to step back, and pressed the toe of his boot to a stone at the base of the wall. This time, there was no more than a feathery sigh of shifting air as a three-foot square opening revealed itself. At a gesture from Alan, Robin dropped and slid himself through it, followed in short order by the rest of the band.

The outlaw leader found himself in a wide alcove walled on three sides by stone and the fourth by a heavy velvet curtain. Fully half of the space was filled with boxes and chests of various sizes, and a garde-robe occupied the far corner. The gilt-edged drapery was heavy enough to muffle any sound from the room beyond, but between past adventures and the word he had had from Much's cousin's daughter Meg, Robin was confident that this was indeed Marian's chamber. He thrust one end of the curtain aside--

\--and stopped in his tracks.

Marian sat with her legs crossed, prettily but none too discreetly attired in a gown of pale blue muslin, atop an enormous bed. At Robin's appearance, she looked up, her lips pursed, from the numerous scraps of varicolored fabric spread out before her.

At the same moment, the Sheriff of Nottingham had risen from a couch across the room -- and aimed the small crossbow in his hands squarely at Robin's chest. "Ah," he said mildly, "the self-styled lord of Sherwood Forest. I see you received my invitation to tomorrow's wedding."

"The Lady Marian will wed no man without my blessing," Robin growled back, "and my men will have you in an instant if you shoot me with that coward's weapon." Behind him, the other outlaws crowded into the room around the other end of the curtain.

"Then I trust you will give me no excuse to use it," the Sheriff returned calmly.

Robin allowed himself a grim chuckle. "Yield up your prisoner, then, and we will be on our way in peace."

"Prisoner?" Marian and the Sheriff spoke the word as one.

Marian kept going. "I am no such thing," she said firmly. "And as for your blessing -- I very much hope you'll grant it."


	5. In All Honor

> _Brave Marian he quickly found (hey ho, hey ho),  
> Kept by the Sheriff, sweet and sound (hey ho, hey ho);  
> He held bold Robin quite at bay  
> At crossbow's point, and bid him stay  
> To bless and give the bride away,  
> Or face the cold, cold ground (hey ho), or face the cold, cold ground._

Robin Hood stared at Marian, too surprised to speak. Instead, it was the Sheriff who broke the silence. "Tyrant may I be, by your lights," he said, "but I assure you, I would not seek to marry against a lady's will. Particularly not Marian's," he added, casting a quick, wry glance in her direction. "But answer me this, if you will - how is it that the lord of Sherwood and his queen are not long-married already? I had thought..."

"Outlaw may I be, by your lights," said Robin, his eyes darting between Marian and the crossbow in the Sheriff's hands, "but I do not take what rightly belongs to another. Welbeck is rightly Marian's, and she would lose it should she wed one such as I."

The Sheriff cocked an eyebrow at Robin, looking skeptical. "Yet there is clearly a bond of love between you--"

"No!" Robin said sharply. "We are not--"

Marian's voice was quieter, but just as firm. "Yes," she said, "but of another kind."

Both Robin's and the Sheriff's attention turned fully to Marian. Robin said, "You cannot--"

"We must," Marian replied. "One cannot keep such a thing from one's husband, at any event."

"Keep what?" This was the Sheriff, intrigued.

Marian's gray eyes darkened, her expression grave. "A family secret, and the true reason Robin and I could never wed. It will be your secret as well, once we two are joined."

The Sheriff's eyebrow rose again. "A family secret? And it is--what?"

Robin gave a great sigh, and spoke. "That Marian and I are brother and sister -- or half so, at least."

There was a long moment's silence. Then:

"Well," the Sheriff said, his voice no longer entirely unruffled. "Half-siblings -- but on which side?"

"Our father's," Marian answered softly. "He was in the late earl's service."

The Sheriff frowned. "But that means...."

"That canon law might well call her illegitimate," said Friar Tuck, stepping forward. "Canons and bishops, however, seldom make allowance for life's circumstance. There is a story here, I doubt not."

"It is simple enough," Marian said; her voice was light, but her eyes flickered with tension. "The late earl of Welbeck was barren. He could not sire children, yet he and my mother still wished for an heir. Both of them together approached Nicholas to provide what was needed - Robin's mother had died only a year after he was born. Nicholas agreed, but he left the earl's service not long after I was born - better, he thought, to avoid the temptation of a greater place than he otherwise deserved."

Tuck's expression was thoughtful. "Just so. Born, christened, and acknowledged as Welbeck's daughter - hm. Only the strictest canon would place the church's shame or stigma on your head so long afterward; certainly I do not."

"That may be so," said Robin, "but the descent of Welbeck itself is another matter."

"Indeed." The Sheriff's posture did not alter, but his eyes shifted to fix on Marian. "How is it," he inquired softly, "that I did not know of this...filial connection of yours until tonight? I had thought us close enough to share one another's most private secrets."

"And so we are," Marian said calmly, "yet the truth of our parentage is as much Robin's secret as mine. Best, I thought, that the news come from both of us together."

The Sheriff frowned and glanced down at the crossbow in his hands, the bolt still aimed at Robin Hood's chest. Then he turned his eyes back to Marian's, and for several moments the two shared a deep, soul-searching look. Finally, the Sheriff met Robin's gaze - and, taking a deep breath, carefully laid his weapon aside.

"I had thought the master of Sherwood my rival in romance, yet now it seems -- God willing -- that we may become brothers-in-law." The Sheriff's tone had held a touch of wry amusement, but abruptly it grew grave. "The lady Marian has asked your blessing on our marriage. Now in all honor must I ask the same."

Robin did not answer at once. He, too, swept his eyes across both Marian's and the Sheriff's countenances: hers sparkled with hopeful anticipation, while his longtime foe's expression was, if not unguarded, clear and untempered by anger or mockery. Almost as an afterthought, Robin spared another searching glance for his companions, now ranged round him in quiet readiness. Tuck's expression was placid enough, but Alan a-Dale was half-smiling, and the two yeomen he had brought were clearly still trying to assimilate the night's revelations.

At last, the outlaw leader's focus returned to Marian. "It is not Robin Hood's way to stand against true and honest love," he said, and watched her eyes brighten. But then he regarded the Sheriff with studied coolness. "Yet neither is it Robin Hood's way to give over good gold and lands to greedy Prince John's sworn servants. Which would you have me deny, my lord Sheriff - my sister, or my countrymen?"

It was Marian who answered, however. "Why, neither. For my lord Hugh is as loyal a friend of good King Richard as Robin Hood himself."


	6. A Most Strange Dance

> It seemed the end of Robin's tale (hey ho, hey ho),  
> Yet faced with death, he did not quail (hey ho, hey ho);  
> Who holds a crossbow has one shot;  
> The Sheriff missed; the maid did not,  
> And thus unraveled Robin's knot  
> That true love might prevail (hey ho), that true love might prevail.

Robin's head whipped round in an instant. "Loyal to Richard? The Sheriff? You cannot be serious."

"Never more so," replied Marian. "You and I are not the only folk with secrets."

"And that one," said the Sheriff, with a penetrating glance at Robin's men, "had best be kept most carefully outside the walls of this chamber. I had hoped," he added, his gaze lighting on Marian, "to keep it even more closely."

A dry chuckle escaped Robin's lips. "It seems a night for unexpected revelations," he said. "And I would hear how it may be that Prince John's sworn Sheriff is in truth King Richard's man."

The Sheriff's smile was faint but genuine, and he flicked his hand in a casual gesture of welcome. "As you will. But do sit down, please. I can offer little refreshment -- you will agree it would be...unwise to send down to the kitchens -- but we may at least discuss matters comfortably, rather than at battle-readiness." He suited action to word, settling himself back onto the couch from which he had risen earlier, and stretched out a hand to Marian in invitation.

Robin returned the Sheriff's smile a trifle crookedly, seated himself in a wide chair, and nodded at his men to follow suit. Alan a-Dale took another chair, the two yeomen perched on chests, and Tuck sat on a corner of the bed as Marian clambered down from its opposite side. "We are not quite so ill-prepared as all that," she said, opening a cabinet from which she produced several stout flagons of wine and a number of cups.

"Well done, my dear," the Sheriff said a few moments later, as Marian joined him on the couch and handed him a wine-cup.

"Indeed," agreed Robin, sipping at his own wine and trying to keep a certain sternness from his expression as the Sheriff's arm went round Marian's shoulders. "Now, then -- we were discussing matters of allegiance."

"So we were," said the Sheriff, "and are. Over wine, in privacy, and without the inconvenient distraction of deadly weapons pointed at one another. Were I truly Prince John's man, surely we would be either in the dungeons on on the battlements, shouting epithets between clashes of sword or over the hiss of heated irons and the like."

"Yet not so long ago," Robin observed, "my good right hand, Little John, was prisoner in those very dungeons awaiting a hangman's noose. Some months prior to that, your armsmen harried my men and I greatly as we departed Nottingham Town with a golden arrow -- justly won in a contest of archery and bestowed by the prince's own hand. Were not both those trials set in motion at Prince John's bidding?"

"I cannot deny it," the Sheriff said. "But consider. Nottingham Castle is guarded by a score of men, yet you passed but four as you fled those dungeons with your man John. Twoscore of armsmen patrol the town, and more ride the roads beyond, yet a mere half dozen pursued you beyond the castle gates. A thoughtful man might wonder what orders the Sheriff gave his hired swords that night - so it is as well for both of us that Prince John is not a thoughtful man."

Robin frowned into his wine-cup, turning it in his hands. "And the tournament? It was no half-strength force set against us then."

"True, but that day the Prince was there in his own person, and most of those armsmen were attached to his retinue. Yet think again -- you are, I grant, uncommonly adept at disguise, but you are also uncommonly well known all through Nottinghamshire. How do you suppose it happened that not one of my own armsmen knew -- or even suspected -- your true identity before the final shots were loosed?"

Robin frowned again. "I mislike the direction of this path," he said. "You can hardly propose that all Robin Hood's successes have been achieved by defeating false foes, weaklings, and other tools."

"Indeed not," the Sheriff returned. "The man who can best you with a bow has not been born. Nor has he who can outflank you in honest skirmish, especially within Sherwood Forest's bounds. Yet those gifts serve less well in Nottingham town, and even less within castle walls."

"True enough," Robin said slowly. "A wise general would not leave himself so ill-defended -- not more than once, at least -- but as you say, Prince John is not noted for his wisdom."

It was the Sheriff's turn to look less than pleased. "I am not so badly guarded against ordinary foes," he said. "Indeed, it is something of a challenge to find men who meet my peculiar requirements."

At that, Robin's expression grew first amused, then more serious. "They are," he admitted reluctantly, "wonderfully consistent in certain respects. They fight fiercely, but rarely with true skill. They think slowly, when they are required to think. And their leaders...do not precisely lead. They follow your orders doggedly, yet without imagination or initiative."

"All of which works well enough, if they are set against ordinary bullies and criminals," the Sheriff observed. "But they are singularly ill-equipped against an adversary possessed of sufficient wit and guile."

There was a brief silence, as Robin's thoughts ran backward over the long history of his encounters with the Sheriff's men. At last, he said slowly, "To command such men, to such an end, would take even greater wit and guile. I can well believe that one so wise as that would find John Lackland an unfit ruler - but it is another step yet to believe him a loyal liege to King Richard."

The Sheriff set his wine-cup aside and regarded Robin evenly. "That is a matter difficult to prove," he said. "I have no writ or seal to offer in evidence -- no more than any other of our true King's patrons in these parts. Perhaps better to ask why a general such as you describe would play so deep a game on so small a board. And to that question I say this: I am a son of Nottinghamshire as much as you, and as loath to leave its folk to the whims of John and his like. I fear for them in the care of any other Sheriff the prince might name." He picked up his wine-cup, drained it, and handed it silently to Marian, who set it next to an empty flagon and turned her own gaze on Robin.

Robin looked from one to the other and back again -- Marian's expression still hopeful, the Sheriff's merely patient -- gave a deep sigh, and drained his own cup. "On that matter I must concur; it seems we three are matched in a most strange dance."

And then at last his lips widened into an honest smile. "And that being so," he said, "Robin Hood can do naught but grant his partners' boons. You have my leave and my blessing to wed, and I wish you all joy in each other's company."

Marian let out a soft squeal of delight, and the Sheriff's face -- even as Robin's -- finally lost its grave cast and lit with startled pleasure. But as the betrothed pair yielded to the moment and shared a fervent kiss, Alan a-Dale's voice rose quietly but clearly from where the minstrel sat.

"If we are to ensure that joy," he said, "then there is much yet to be done. For we are players in a ballad as well as a dance -- and unless we rewrite it, that ballad cannot but end in death or disaster."


	7. Players In a Ballad?

> There's little more to hear from me (hey ho, hey ho);  
> The lovers found their destiny (hey ho, hey ho);  
> And Robin slips through ev'ry net  
> On forest path or parapet;  
> Some say he taunts the Sheriff yet  
> From 'neath the greenwood tree (hey ho), from 'neath the greenwood tree.

At Alan's words, the happy couple abruptly broke their kiss, and everyone's heads turned toward the minstrel. "Death or disaster?" Robin echoed.

"Ballad?" The Sheriff blinked, then suddenly nodded. "Oh," he said, looking thoughtful. And then, in a very different voice, "_Oh._"

Marian's expression was one of pure puzzlement. "Players in a ballad?"

Alan a-Dale exchanged a glance with the Sheriff. "The stratagem," he said, "by which we were 'invited' to this gathering." Softly, he sang the rhyme's first two verses, causing both the Sheriff's and Marian's faces to color.

The Sheriff's expression was distinctly mortified. "It seemed a useful device at the time."

"And so it is," Alan replied. "I would count your hired bard a better musician than poet -- but what matters is that he, like you, believed my lord Robin your rival for my lady Marian's affections."

"Half of Nottinghamshire seems to have thought Marian my true-love," Robin put in, a trifle sourly, "and that before the Sheriff's ballad began making the rounds. I had thought it a harmless enough fiction, and some protection against unwanted suitors."

Alan shook his head. "So long as the suitors were unwanted, yes. Even, perhaps, so long as a suitor -- and a marriage -- were kept from common knowledge. But no longer, and not when the suitor and Robin Hood are known as mortal foes throughout the district."

Marian nodded, her face clouding. "A romantic triangle."

"Precisely," said the minstrel. "And the ballad is now only a part of the difficulty. If you and my lord the Sheriff wed on the morrow, the demands of both honor and story admit of but one path the spurned soul-mate - Robin Hood - may take."

"Battle to the death," said Robin, his voice torn between amusement and alarm. "Were we in truth rivals for Marian's favor, that is. As we are not..."

The Sheriff seized on the pause. "...peace between us becomes possible."

But Alan a-Dale lifted his hand. "Were the matter a private one, a silent truce might serve. Think, though -- what befalls if the quondam queen of Sherwood becomes Nottingham's lady in fact, and Robin Hood fails to protest? More, what befalls when Prince John next inquires after Robin's head, and his good Sheriff's pursuit thereof?"

"He would understand neither mercy nor failure," the Sheriff said heavily, yielding to Alan's logic. "It would mean either the end of my tenure, if not my life -- or Robin Hood's ending at my hands." Drawing Marian close, he continued, "Forgive me, my love; my cleverness may have doomed us all."

Robin cut in, his voice sharp. "No more of that! We are not slaves to a stranger's lute," He turned toward Alan. "Nor are we, it seems, enemies in truth. Surely we need not succumb to a fate decreed by one poor ballad?"

"Indeed not," Alan replied, "although not without yet more subterfuge and sacrifice. I fear," he added to the Sheriff, "that I must in truth rewrite that song's ending - and that there can be no wedding tomorrow."

"No wedding?" the Sheriff and Marian demanded as one. "But--"

"For the very good reason," the minstrel added hastily, "that we shall conduct the ceremony tonight."

Friar Tuck blinked and nearly dropped his wine-cup. "If there is not a devil in you, Alan a-Dale, you are uncommonly prescient. Why else insist that old Tuck join in such a bruising venture as this?"

Robin chuckled, but nonetheless eyed Alan searchingly. "Why indeed? Did you truly foresee some such revelations as we have uncovered?"

Alan merely shrugged. "That you and Marian share a close-forged bond is common knowledge; only its nature has been hidden. That the Sheriff held true affection for Marian I thought likely, from the shape of his hireling's ballad. That Marian might return it, I thought at least possible - she left Welbeck too soon for the song to have drawn her, and Will Stutely reported the Sheriff's coach but no troop of armsmen, so something other than force persuaded her to go."

"And from all this," Robin persisted, "you foresaw that the rescue I plotted might transform to a wedding party?"

"There was one other factor," Alan replied. "The ballad the Sheriff's songster penned suffers one fatal flaw. I knew it could not stand unaltered - and yet that an altar might be called for even in the revised version."

His listeners groaned at the wordplay, and Robin gave the minstrel a mock-severe look. "And the flaw?"

"That it ended with the Sheriff's triumph, of course."

Even the Sheriff himself chuckled at that, but he quickly grew serious again. "Say more of this rewritten tale," he requested. "I grant the need, but I mislike the mention of sacrifice."

"As to the ballad," Alan said, "only the last three verses need be changed, and the first of those but slightly, so that the outcome is...less specific. The new version should easily supplant the old, especially as events unfold to match it. As to the marriage..."

"We will be wed," said Marian, regarding the minstrel none too happily, "but I suspect we may part too soon thereafter for my liking."

"Indeed. The ballad's pretense must be kept up -- that you abide in Sherwood and cleave to Robin. That should not prevent all manner of trysting," the minstrel added, "nor endanger the Welbeck lands -- those, and the marriage itself, can be publicly recognized when Richard Lionheart has resumed the throne in truth. Until then--"

"Until then," the Sheriff grumbled, "we will skulk about like stoats in the underbrush."

It was Robin's turn to shake his head. "We can do better than that, I warrant. Merely lead a caravan of Prince John's riches through Sherwood every month or so for my men and I to capture, and we will hold feasts in your honor and look the other way whilst you and Marian gaze fondly into each other's eyes."

"Oh, excellent!" said Tuck. "One can never have too many feasts."

"And perhaps another tournament," mused the Sheriff, "with a great fair, from which a certain outlaw queen might be whisked away and rescued again."

Alan a-Dale chuckled. "Do not forget to take all care," he warned. "The price of a misstep in this dance is still perilously high. And the more who share your secrets, the more chances there are for betrayal."

"True enough," said Robin Hood. "But now that we all three dance to the same pattern, we shall also be better able to match each other's steps - and catch one another when we may stumble. Look you to your quill, Alan, and you, Tuck, to your prayer-book. I would finish this business as swiftly as we may."

For some minutes, there was little speech and much activity, as Robin's men obeyed his order. The Sheriff and Robin's yeomen slipped briefly away and returned with Marian's mother, who proved entirely unruffled by the sudden change of plans. The two women retreated briefly into another curtained alcove, from which Marian soon emerged clad in clouds of lacy silver-white fabric.

And not long after that, Friar Tuck's gruff voice spoke the words of the wedding-service, answered in turn by the Sheriff's rich tones and Marian's softer, musical replies. The light from the window-slits had just begun to shift from deepest black to the gray foreshadowing dawn when Tuck finally said, "You may kiss the bride -- but be quick about it!"

Robin was nodding as the two happily obliged. "'Tis time we were on our way," he said firmly, and before either of the newlyweds could protest, added, "You as well, my lord Sheriff -- I would not deprive you of your bride so soon. Once we are safe in Sherwood we shall devise a suitable tale of your capture and arrange to ransom you back to your niece and seneschal."

The Sheriff's quiet laughter blended with Robin's. "As you will, then -- brother Robin." They slipped back into the hidden passage, each taking one of Marian's arms, and stood in companionable silence as Alan a-Dale relit his torch and led Robin and his men downward toward the way out.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first Yuletide assignment, and turned in the telling into a rather longer and more complicated story than I'd originally planned. Part of the complexity arose when I went looking for a home for Marian; I looked at a number of maps before settling on Welbeck (which is a real place). Historically, an order of foreign monks received the Welbeck lands in 1200 -- not long, in the story's time-frame, after Marian and her new husband would have come into them.
> 
> As I recall, the original terms of the Yuletide assignment were, essentially "Everything you know is wrong." And while I had read various attempts at not-so-evil Sheriffs of Nottingham over the years, I'd never run into a modern retelling that offered a reasonable explanation for _not_ pairing Robin and Marian. So I went looking for one. As far as I know, no one else has suggested this particular line of reasoning -- and there's surprisingly little in the established tradition that directly contradicts it.


End file.
